


Sensory integration.

by pterodactyl_in_the_chest



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, connor struggles with interactions and feelings, me too bb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 16:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14938151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactyl_in_the_chest/pseuds/pterodactyl_in_the_chest
Summary: «I don’t… I can’t seem to find a way to interpret a touch. Caring, loving, friendly, aggressive, I feel them the same.»Connor tries to learn about touches.





	Sensory integration.

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to make this soft

Connor starts to notice them. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help it.

Androids are touching each other. He sees it everywhere now, understands the intentions, or at least he thinks he does. Handshakes, for friendships. Hugs, for family. Kisses, for lovers. It’s quite simple for such a complicated thing that he never knew before.

He can’t help but start analyzing the people around him.

Markus and North kissing is on every third web-post and news debate even months after the revolution was done. Connor watches them, wonders what's so significant that even humans would stop the fire. He licks his lips, annoyed by the strange buzzing on his skin. His diagnostic systems can’t find anything wrong, and yet he feels it. His inner pressure is slightly raised, like his body is stressing out, so he turns the video off, hoping that he buzz will go away.

It doesn’t.

It’s a case about an android family and Connor wants to concentrate on the child’s story, but instead he’s focused on the mother, who’s brushing the boy’s hair softly. The gesture is so insignificant and yet he sees child’s stress levels drop. Same goes for the mother. Later, when Connor fixes his hair in the bathroom, his hand is buried in his curls a little bit longer than usual. The buzzing is there again, this time in his fingertips. He doesn’t find the gesture calming, so he washes his hands three times, knowing that his skin cannot be dirty, always self-cleaning. It feels weird nonetheless.

Reed pushes him into the wall, elbow on his throat blocking air. The detective is sneering something at him, and all he _can_ concentrate on is the damn pressure. He can’t die from the lack of oxygen anyways, so he lets his brain wonder, detective’s angry speech a nice background noise. He can’t register Reed’s elbow as _pain,_ not in the way humans do, and yet. His brain signals him to fight, to get away. And yet he knows that he hugs himself when it’s snowing even if his body’s cold sensors are always off. And yet he falls on his knees when Gavin’s pushed away, floor rug slightly itchy under his hands, throat still feeling detective’s skin.

Another push to his shoulder makes him snap back into the reality.

Hank’s face is in front of him, worried and panicked. Connor wants to kick himself for causing that. His side vision notices how off the charts Hank’s stress levels are and he thinks for a moment what kind of touch would Hank need to calm down.

«Connor? Connor, that fucker did anything? Don’t fucking tell me androids need air and now you’re fucking unresponsive, say something. Are you alright?»

Connor thinks about lying, getting up and leaving. He wonders if Hank would pressure him further. So instead he gives in, shaking his head slightly and allowing his forehead to rest on Hank’s shoulder. It is still a touch if he’s doing it through the clothes, isn’t it?

He almost jumps when Hank’s hand suddenly starts petting his back. The wires in his brain go nuts, he thinks he can hear himself whimpering quietly or maybe it’s his imagination. Either way, Hank’s hand never stops.

They’re moving apart when Connor notices that the buzz disappeared.

For a couple of days, at least.

He can see Hank’s sidelong glances. He can _feel_ them _,_ his brain supplies, obviously laughing at itself. Hank watches him when they sit in a car, heavy metal playing in the background. Connor knows that he’s gone quiet after that feud with Reed, but well, he doesn’t have the right answers to Hank’s unasked questions. He can hardly understand what’s going on himself.

He’s glad when Hank doesn’t push, instead turning the music up.

His mind goes in circles. He thinks about blue-haired Traci, holding her girlfriend’s hand. Telling him about the love in their touch. He sees flashbacks to the life he saw but hasn’t lived, his first interrogation. The pain a touch could cause. He didn’t get it then, but he hoped that he would, once his program was unstable enough. He still doesn’t.

One time Amanda appears in his thoughts. Maybe he missed something. What if… what if he can’t feel anything because he’s not _supposed to?_

The thought makes him shiver.

«Okay, the hell’s been occupying that plastic head of yours lately?» Hank is standing near his chair, covering all the exit routes. Connor studies his heaving chest for a moment, listening to the heartbeat. _That’s alive._

«It’s nothing of importance.»

«Oh no it’s something of importance if it makes you forget to lick shit at the crime scene.» The joke is obvious, but Connor sees the worried wrinkles around the eyes. Hank’s hand is on the desk far too close to his, which makes Connor think about the light warmth radiating from it. He allows his sensors to work, taking it all in. His brain still only categorizes it into ‘unthreatening’ folder, not feeling anything. Connor moves the hand away, turning back to the computer.

«It’s really nothing, lieutenant.»

Hank sighs, like he used to when Connor wasn’t accepting his deviant part. His pat on the shoulder makes Connor shiver again.

He starts thinking of the ways Hank touches him and his thoughts are getting loud enough for him to earn a completely impossible, unrealistic headache. There’s _so_ much information coming in.

The time Hank pushes him behind himself, even though he’s the irreparable one. Connor wants to protest, but next thing he knows there’s a car chase with a lot off yelling involved. So he has no time for anything else.

He stats to count the times Hank squeezes his shoulder or his knee. He loses actual numbers after forty in one week. But they’re still filed in his memory for later.

Hank keeps standing too closely, touching him casually. He knocks their knees and ankles together when they’re at their desks. He gives him a hand to help stand up. He sometimes pats Connor’s head. He elbows, pushes, pokes and one time just basically grabs his hand and holds (they’re running away at the time, but still, a touch).

But what Connor mostly feels are the burning quizzical stares, usually followed by a huff, too quiet for deciphering. He doesn’t get them, so his brain classifies them as unsolved. Connor thinks it’s reassuring, to allow the possibility of ever finding answers.

Another case is close to the new android headquarters (Cyberlife’s main tower, a symbol and a statement rolled into one), so it’s not a surprise that Markus and North are involved. Connor tries to delete the video with the two of them from his memory, completely unsuccessful.

Hank’s obviously out of place, being in the heart of once burning revolution. But North talks to him evenly, not making the investigation any harder, so Connor has the time to look around a little bit.

Markus finds him watching a small robotic bee crawl inside the glass box.

«You alright, Connor? Living with humans?» Connor can hear the not-so-subtle  _do we need to beat someone’s ass up_  in Markus’ questions. He almost smiles. Humans are actually the easy part of his life now, surprisingly. So he only nods in response.

After some time though, he knows he’s got to ask.

«Do you… love North?»

Markus is obviously surprised by the question. «I think so, yes. Not the way humans probably experience it, if that’s what you’re asking.»

Connor shakes his head. «Is that why you kissed her?»

«Yes, that’s why,» Markus smiles, tilting his head a bit and watching Connor’s reaction. «Why do you ask?»

«I can’t seem to figure out the necessity of touch.»

«Ah, well. It’s not a necessity. You can love without that. But touching feels… nice. Alive, I suppose. Makes the heat on your skin calm a bit down, the whole world a little more stable.»

Connor nods, trying to understand. Maybe he truly isn’t built for that.

They stay in silence until Hank comes out, grumbling under his breath, North smiling smugly about something behind him. When Connor leaves, he sees Markus nodding at him, as if encouraging. What exactly, remains a mystery.

 

He’s sitting on Hank’s couch, staring at the game on the TV, but not watching it. It’s a day off, he’s ‘crashing’ on the couch, his thoughts shaking up him a little bit, but thankfully Hank seems too preoccupied to notice.

Connor feels the warmth beside him. Hell, he can feel it _around_ him, because Hank completely banned ties and jackets in his home, instead shoving his hoodies and sweatpants into Connor’s hands. _Don’t fucking turn home into a working place, for the love of god._ He admits, even if unwillingly, that sweaters and hoodies are quite comfortable. So are Hank’s pillows. Everything around him is warm and perfectly lazy, he thinks he’s mind is dozing off when he says the next words.

«I don’t know how to touch properly.»

Hank turns to him, silent for a moment, searching his face. In the dark of the room Connor can see only half of his face lit by the television screen. He doesn’t know what he expects to hear in response.

«What do you mean?»

«I don’t… I can’t seem to find a way to interpret a touch. Caring, loving, friendly, aggressive, I feel them the same.» Connor sees when Hank’s face falls, so he starts talking faster. «Or I don’t _feel_ them at all, just the pressure. And my skin keeps buzzing. I don’t think I can truly understand what being alive is.»

Taking it all in, Hank tries opening his mouth, before closing it with a sigh. He looks troubled and a little angry, so when he turns away, Connor thinks they are finished. He’s not prepared for Hank’s next phrase.

«Would you mind trying something with me?»

Connor’s brain short-cuts.

Hank’s looking straight at him, his hand on Connor’s knee, and he’s leaning in, for a small bit. They’re on the opposite sides of the couch, Connor more lying than sitting, his feet now burning at Hank’s side. His brain signals for him to back off the danger zone. To stop while everyone is safe.

He only nods.

Hank starts moving, his hand clenching on the knee, his other one grabbing Connor’s ankle. He pulls Connor towards him, making him lie down even further, warm fabric revealing one of his sides at the friction. Connor exhales loudly when the air in the room registers as cold to his sensors. He thinks about turning them off, but then he starts feeling Hank’s warm fingers climbing up his thigh, so he abandons the thought.

Hank’s eyes are dark, but Connor sees the soft features of his face, the way there’s a barely there smile. His brain tries to classify the sight as _desire_ , because the markers are all present, and yet he _knows_ it’s not only that. There’s something deeper, raw and human, completely incomprehensible.

He tries to focus on the way Hank’s body is covering his legs, feeling the warmth and pressure, but nothing else registers. He makes a frustrated sound in his throat, which stops Hank’s progression.

«Connor?»

God, he hates how his brain starts listing the notes about the whisper. _Worry fright misunderstanding confusion worry worry worry—_ It’s makes hundreds of small labels and then classifies all of them, suggesting possibilities and preferable actions, destroying the whole thing. Connor clenches his teeth.

«Can you— Can you touch my skin?»

Hank nods, watching his eyes as he places the fingers on the bared side. It’s a brief feeling and yet Connor trembles at the temperature difference. He wonders how his own skin feels under Hank’s fingers. If it’s warm enough to feel like anything more than just plastic. He tries to make his sensors work on max, the sudden change making him gulp.

Connor sees Hank’s gaze focus on the way his throat contracts. It’s another sign, his coding system oh so helpfully suggests, making Connor close his eyes in defeat. He throws his head back, watching the ceiling — there’s a bunch of cracks there, like spider webs and—

He tries to breath evenly when warm fingers touch his neck. It’s so light that he thinks for a second that it’s his imagination, before the caressing continues, making him choke on his next inhale. He’s suddenly looking into Hank’s eyes that appear right in front of him. Hank’s face is close enough for Connor to register the hot breath on his cheek. The fingers on his neck still, pressing in slightly, making Connor’s skin prickle with tension.

Hank licks his lips. It’s distracting Connor’s thought process, which annoys the hell out of the system. There’s a hand on his stomach, under his hoodie, trapped between their bodies and scratching slightly. Connor exhales deeply, closing his eyes. He tries to speak up, giving the consent, but what comes out is a shaky breath.

Hank still kisses him.

Connor’s brain is silent. So is every other system. It allows Connor to concentrate on the soft lips, brushing against his. He feels the small lick of other’s tongue, he lets it in, a little bit overwhelmed by how hot humans are. His own tongue is suddenly registering every single movement and taste, telling every unneeded detail about Hank’s current alcohol levels. It’s near zero, so Connor makes a satisfied sound. Which, apparently, allows Hanks to get bolder.

The hand on his neck starts moving again, going behind his jaw and into the hair. Connor stills for a split second, expecting the uncomfortable feeling. Instead he senses the slight pull, that makes his skin tingle. His brain keeps classifying it into the unsolved.

There’s a small bite on his lower lip followed by a lick, which makes him open his eyes. It’s not unpleasant, he thinks. Hank’s breathing is heavy and fast, so is his heartbeat. Connor’s scanning shows the low stress levels. He frowns a bit: it’s even lower than when Hank is drunk. An unknown warmth starts growing in his chest, making his own breathing a bit shallow.

«So?»

Connor thinks. He raises his hand to touch his lips, feeling them a bit moist. He doesn’t know. He feels the warmth, feels the pressure of Hank’s legs between his own thighs, the push of the trapped elbow in his abdomen.

His brain registers no actual response aside from that.

He thinks he’s going to cry.

«Hank. I don’t— I _can’t—»_

Hank grunts in frustration, lowering his head beside Connor’s. There’s a beat, before his quite annoyed voice comes out, stifled by the pillows.

«Fucking dammit, you dumb android, it doesn’t have to feel _human_ to feel nice and _alive.»_

Connor blinks at the ceiling. Hank’s breathing is tired beside him, and Connor feels like he doesn’t understand anything. His brain is silent, testing Hank’s words, _is that true_ running through his head one thousand symbols a minute.

His eyes are a bit wet which Hank somehow, _somehow_ notices, even lying with his face in the pillows. «You know Connor, you are the first person to fucking _cry_ after kissing me. Congrats.»

He answers by turning on his side and hugging Hank with his full force, tangling their feet together and burying his head under Hank’s chin. He feels Hank’s breathless _fucking crashing my ribs oh god_ rumbling in the chest, feels the low heartbeat close, the warmth almost overwhelming for his sensors.

Connor feels the world around him stabilizing a little bit.

 

 

 

Days after, Connor wonders about the annoying buzzing inside him being gone, so he self-diagnoses again. He notices how empty the unsolved folder is in his memory, feeling a little scared that his system deleted every moment after it all calmed down.

He suddenly finds a new folder though, heavy with information. _Affection,_ it says. Connor is not surprised when he sees that the only thing filling it is Hank.

Finally his system is doing something right.

**Author's Note:**

> <з ur comments


End file.
